You Do Count
by The Science of DeductionSH
Summary: It's been two years, since The Reichenbach Fall. Molly misses her high functioning sociopath, and John misses his best friend, Sherlock gets captured, and Scotland Yard has hired a replacement. This is a Sherolly.
1. Chapter 1: You've Always Counted

**Hey guys, here's my next fic as promised. This is just the first chapter, but I'll be updating within the week.**** I don't own Sherlock, BBC, or any of the characters, etc. Mark Gatiss ****and Steven Moffat, are the real creators of the show.** **All this work is for entertainment purposes only, not for profit or gain. ****Enjoy!**

* * *

The whole atmosphere of the morgue, the cold steel tables, the dead bodies. Reminded Molly that, it had been two years since she had seen Sherlock, and that was only to help him disappear. But when was he coming back? She looked up and glanced at the clock, seven. It was time to go home, to an empty, lonely flat.

Sherlock had been the light of her life, and now he was gone. Molly glanced at the clock again, seven-fifteen. Molly quickly finished her last bit of paperwork. _It probably won't take too long, she thought to herself._

But as time went on, Molly began to daydream about the passionate kiss she had with Sherlock... The way his hands caressed her neck, the feeling of his warm body against hers, and oh, his lips, the way they moved together with hers, in a perfect unison of passion-

_"No, I'm sorry Mrs. Turner, we don't do cremations, but there's a lovely cemetery just an hour's drive from here... "_

"Oh, thank you dear, goodbye," Came the gravelly answer.

The sound of Toms voice, brought Molly back to reality.

"I'm going home Tom, do you think you can finish up without me?"

"No problem, go and get some rest, you'll be needing it for the inspection tomorrow," Tom replied.

Molly gathered her belongings from her locker, and left the morgue. The cold night air, filled her lungs with fresh oxygen, inviting Molly to breath deeply. As she walked down the street to her flat, Molly's mind began to wander. Did Sherlock really care for her?, did he really need her? Sherlock's last words, kept echoing over and over in her mind, his warm deep voice, lulling her while she listened.

_You're wrong you know, you do count. You've always counted, and I've always trusted you-_

Molly's thoughts were cut short as she arrived at her flat, the warm air enveloped her as she opened the door and walked in.

As she turned on the lights, Toby rubbed up against her leg purring. Molly stroked her hand through the animals fur. "Are you hungry boy?"

"Meow," came the response.

"I'll get you some food." Molly opened the fridge to find some cat food, and placed it into the cats dish.

As she was preparing the cats meal, Molly's mind began to drift.

_What do you need?_

_You-_

"Stop it Molly," she chided herself, as she raked her fingers, through her long auburn hair. "He said he wouldn't be back for a long time." A few tears, came streaming down her cheek. The thought of never seeing him again, never hearing his low, deep voice calling out her name.

How she longed to look inside his comforting blue eyes again, to feel the strength of his presence beside her.

Feeling emotionally, and physically drained, she slowly made her way to the sofa, and collapsed onto it. Toby followed close behind, after he was done eating, and jumped into her lap, curling up into a ball.

Molly soon felt her eyelids getting heavier, and heavier, and eventually drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2: Comfort Amidst Pain

**Thank you to all my viewers, favorites, and alerts. As promised, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

Serbian soldiers yelling-

Sherlock wakes up chained between two pillars of wood. His body aching, from being suspended from the cold metal chains, that dug into his wrists. There were two guards standing near him. The older guard had a cruel merciless face, but the younger, had a worried expression, almost one of remorse. Surely he had been trained for the army recently going by his disheveled uniform. So maybe he wasn't a killing machine yet.

"Just tell us how you got in, and we'll let you go."

Sherlock took one look at the older guards scarred face, and so he began: That scar on your face is definitely a knife wound, and you've recently traveled to Antarctica, the electricity isn't working in your bathroom, an-

"Silence!"

_"I told you he's a government spy sir."_

"Is that right. Well, let's see if we can make this spy leak his assets," The older guard said while walking suspiciously around the chained figure.

Sherlock new what that meant. Before the incoming blow from a fist struck his body, he closed his eyes, and slowly exhaled, retreating to his mind palace.

* * *

Sherlock opened his eyes, and was back in 221.B. Everything from the painted face on the wall, and the dusty furniture remained the same. Except a certain, dank smell of dampness.

Sherlock felt a sharp pain in his stomach, but the feeling gradually went away.

"Hello Sherlock," Molly said, with a slight lilt in her voice.

"What are you doing here Molly?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh Sherlock," Molly replied. "You always need me when your in trouble."

"Sherlock, why aren't you honest with me?" Molly asked. Her face now painted with disappointment.

"I know how you feel about me. Well not me, I mean the other me. So why do you try so hard to hide your feelings?"

Sherlock stared at her white lab coat, into her marble brown eyes, at her flawless alabaster skin. Ever since he first met Molly, he new there was something special about her. But why only now, did he want to take her in his arms, and passionately kiss her again? Why of all people was he experiencing feelings? Why was he having thoughts about her heart pounding against his body while caressing her perfect figure.

_WHY?_

All these thoughts kept racing in Sherlock's mind. But he didn't want to hurt her, he didn't want to let her down.

Sherlock gestured to Molly to sit on the couch.

"Sherlock your bleeding!" Molly immediately pressed her fingers against his chest to put pressure on the wound.

"You need to focus, now take deep breath."

Sherlock did as he was told.

All of a sudden, everything began to look fuzzy, Molly was slowly disappearing, and the mind palace was fading.

Suddenly, a wave of pain hit him.

**"Wake up!"** Sherlock was jolted awake by a steel pipe hitting his back.

_"If you don't tell me what I need to know, my men will extract it from you!"_

Sherlock saw a soldier coming towards him, carrying something in his hand, but it was to far away to make out. As he got closer, Sherlock could see a clear, plastic syringe in his finger tips. Filled to the brim, with a translucent green liquid.

_"You will tell me what I want to know, or you'll feel something worse than a pinprick!" _the older soldier mocked.

Sherlock concentrated. "Don't tell them anything, resist the drug. Do it for John, do it for Molly, do it for Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock repeated these words over and over.

He was going to make it. He was going to see Molly again and tell her that he loves her. He was going to tell John and Mrs. Hudson he wasn't dead.

...

A shadowy figure walked forward and placed the cold needle on Sherlock's neck, causing him to flinch. "Last chance. How did you break Moriarty's network?"

Sherlock just ignored him, concentrating on a fixed spot on the wall.

_"Fine, have it your way"_

The detective let out a small moan, as the needle pierced his skin. Causing his captors to grin wickedly. In a few moments, the serum will enter his system. He won't be able to think, and it will be like he has no will of his own. Sherlock had to do something.

**I'm currently making chapter 3, so it might be out, sometime next week. If you like this chapter, feel free to review.**


	3. Chapter 3: A Flashback From The Past

**Hey guys, thank you for reading, and following this st****ory. A special thank you to rubyred753, for the nice review:) I'm uploading this chapter a little sooner than I said, Oh well. Without further ado, ladies and gentlem****en, I present you with, chapter 3.**

Then an idea came to Sherlock. There was a way to fight the serum, but it wouldn't be easy. He needed to occupy his entire brain with something, a memory. But what?

The memory needed to be buried deep in his subconscious.

Sherlock closed his eyes, and scoured his mind palace looking for a particular file. After a few minutes, Sherlock came across a fairly dusty bin of old deleted memories. "Any one of these will do," the detective muttered to himself.

Sherlock pulled out one of the files, and with a single touch, the dust began to fall, and the color was renewed. Sherlock immersed himself completely in the document, and got to work.

* * *

Sherlock was in his twenties, working as a new consulting detective for Scotland Yard. Mycroft was away attending a business conference in Liverpool. Leaving a messy haired detective, alone in his flat doing experiments.

All of a sudden... Two men dressed in grey suits, break into the flat and grab Sherlock from behind.

Going by his form of attack, and by their form of entrance, Sherlock deduced these men were probably out for revenge. But the straightened suit and tie the strangers were wearing, changed his mind. _No, this was personal he thought to himself._ Sherlock had made a lot of enemy's, but none of them were as twisted, or as smug, except a certain consulting criminal, Sebastian Moran.

"Your working for Sebastian," Sherlock exclaimed, while putting on his coat and scarf.

Suddenly, Sherlock heard the sound of faint beating in the distance. But ignored it, focusing on the conversation with Sebastian's thugs.

"So, I take it you're here to carry out his dirty work, because he's too much of a coward to kill me himself," Sherlock quoted.

"My employer only wanted me to give you something Sherlock," The henchman remarked, smiling cruelly. One of Sebs henchmen, reached in his pocket, and pulled out a plastic bottle filled with an assortment of blue pills.

"Sebastian's not trying to kill you, well right now anyway. You psychopaths are always so dramatic."

"Sociopath!" Sherlock said, correcting him with frustration in his voice.

"This is just a little gift." One of the henchmen, hands Sherlock one blue pill, and then gestures to his partner to leave. "You can't be the only one who gets bored Sherlock," one of the men taunts, while walking out the door.

Sherlock is left standing in the flat, staring at the tiny, plastic pill in his hand.

His brain was going crazy. He had been bored out of his mind doing placid experiments, for days on end. But now, there was something new and exciting, waiting to be explored. Sherlock's calculating blue eyes shinned, as he contemplated what was inside the seemingly harmless pill in his hand. The allurement of the unknown, was something that Sherlock couldn't pass up.

The anxious detective, knew that Sebastian needed him alive to cure his boredom. After all, ordinary people were so boring, so he would never end the twisted friendship they shared.

Sherlock walked over to the coffee table, and picked up the glass of water, popping the tiny pill into his mouth. As the pill slowly slid down his esophagus, Sherlock began to feel something strange happening.

Without warning, the detectives body violently contorted and his eyes glazed over with a salty liquid, blurring his vision. Sherlock's feet fell out from underneath him, causing him to collapse onto the ground.

"How could I have been so stupid!" Sherlock scolded himself, while trying not to move too much.

The detectives phone buzzed, and a voice message automatically played: _"Hello Sherlock, did you like my little gift? I know you can't come to the phone right now. I must say, it took me a while, to find the right combination to bring you down. Yes, you've just became my experiment. Now i'll tell you the side effects:_ If you tell me the truth, my men will give you the antidote. If you tell me a lie, you'll just have to be content with being a rug for the rest of your life."

_"Do we have a deal?"_

Sherlock heard the footsteps of two men walking up from behind him. The detective tried to protest. "I-," Sebastian cut him off.

"Good. Now here's the first question: How do I infiltrate the security system in the Bank of England?"

The detective had an idea. "To infiltrate the security, you need to input 342456 into the first keypad you see upon entering the building."

"For your sake, I do hope your not lying to me." Sebastian hung up, and the line went dead.

One of Sebs henchmen gingerly walked over, and administered the antidote to Sherlock, and left.

The flat soon came in to focus. Sherlock slowly stood up, his legs wobbly as he struggled to keep his balance. "That's the problem with you psychopaths, you always give to much away." Sherlock new he had the upper hand now, and quickly dialed Scotland Yard.

"Sebastian's on his way to rob the Bank of England. It is imperative that you get there before he does."

"I'm on my way. You didn't give him the real combination did you?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course not," Sherlock replied. "I used the combination to my old school locker. So unless he wants some old shoes and a half eaten sandwich..."

"You know the code to your locker still? ...never mind" Lestrade said sheepishly.

* * *

"Tell me how you broke Moriarty's network?" the Serbian soldier shouted, his warm breath, tickling the hairs on the back of the detectives neck.

Sherlock just occupied his mind, talking to Lestrade in his mind palace.

"Why aren't you talking?" the older soldier blasted in his face.

"I don't know sir," the younger soldier replied. "The serum doesn't appear to have any affect on him."

"I don't know what kind of spy training you have. But either I break you, or the colonel does," He remarked cruelly.

_"I am here, where is the victim?"_

Sherlock turned his attention to a middle aged man holding an umbrella, wearing a Serbian uniform. The way he composed himself, the lack of training on that Serbian accent. _Of course, it was Mycroft. He couldn't pass up an opportunity to see me beaten, Sherlock thought quietly to himself._

The other soldiers placed a chair in the middle of the damp floor, for the stranger to sit down.

"How did he get the rank of colonel, he's not even Serbian?" Sherlock mumbled.

"Has he talked?"

"Not yet Colonel, we've done everything humanly possible. He just keeps staring blankly at the wall."

Sherlock smirks.

"Give me a few minutes alone with the victim," The stranger remarked, sitting down in his chair.

"Yes sir!" The older solder and the recruit, both solute and leave.

_"Well now, it looks like it's just you, and me."_

**I wanted to add a little back-story on his life, before he met john and moriarty. But there will definitely be lots, and lots of Sherolly, in chapter 4. I'll upload the next chapter, probably next week. As always feel free to review:)**


	4. Chapter 4: It's Just A Magic Trick

**Thank you all, for the lovely reviews, follows, and views. I'm writing chapter 5, as we speak. Enjoy!**

After the other soldiers had left, the shadowy figure walked over to Sherlock. Seeing the scars on his back, the stranger let a hint of humility wash over his features. He grasped Sherlock's shoulder, and leaned in toward his ear, startling him a bit.

"Crime in London has gotten abhorrent in your absence... We've learned of an imminent terrorist attack. Welcome back, Sherlock Holmes."

A smile grew on Sherlock's lips.

Mycroft unlocked the chains to his wrists, causing Sherlock to hiss in pain as he bent his arms, restoring the blood flow and circulation to them.

...

_I researched you. Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick, it's just a magic trick... Goodbye John._

_No, Sherlock!_

_..._

The doctors body violently contorted in his sleep. Thrashing around, as Sherlock's voice played over and over, haunting his dreams.

John woke up with beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. "Jesus," John mumbled, his voice cracking a little. The events that happened two years ago, were just too painful of a reminder, every day and night. That his one and only true friend, was gone.

John got out of bed, wrapping a robe around himself, and headed downstairs. The doctor took out his phone, and checked his texts, while putting the kettle on.

_John, I was hoping we could meet for fish and chips tomorrow?_\- MH

_Hi John, this is Mary, sorry to hear about Sherlock_\- MM

_John, I know that since he died you haven't wanted to visit. But it's been two years_\- H

_John, i've got a video that you might want to see. It's the video Sherlock made for your birthday. You know before_\- DI

John's eyes started brimming with tears, as he thought about his best friend lying there on the pavement. As he held his hand, feeling the life slowly drain out of him. But he was a doctor. Why then was he powerless to help a patient in need? Why? John couldn't understand it, he just couldn't understand why Sherlock had to die. The doctor saw many deaths as a soldier in Afghanistan, but it never drained on him like this.

Night after night, John would hear the sound of gunshots in the sitting room. But when he ran downstairs to check, all he saw was darkness and emptiness. John decided to move from 221.B. The flat had too many painful memories. John needed to work through the pain. It had been two years, he needed to start his life anew. John had picked up an engagement ring, and was going to ask Mary to be his wife.

...

"Inspector, we still don't have any leads on that robbery."

"Yes I'm aware of that, but I have to pay John a visit."

"Is he still mourning that psychopath?" Donavan asked cruelly.

"You know it's comments like that..." Never mind.

"Look, bottom line is, we all let him down. When he needed us most we abandoned him. But John, he stayed with him. Never doubting that he was telling the truth."

There was just silence.

The DI shrugged, and put on his coat and walked out the door."

...

Lestrade made his way to Johns flat, and rang the door bell.

John was just getting ready to go to Bart's, when he answered the door. "Something I can help you with?" John inquired.

"As a matter of fact, I was cleaning out my flat when I came across this." Lestrade handed John a video tape, that read (Sherlock's Birthday speech to John). "It's the unedited version he made for you, before..."

"That's fine," John sniffed, "i'll watch it later."

"Well alright then, I suppose I should be getting back," Lestrade said.

The DI left, and John closed the door behind him, and walked into the sitting room.

...

John stared at the videotape in his hand, then at the engraving. Watson couldn't stand the suspense anymore. With one smooth gesture, he pushed the tape inside the telly and pressed play.

...

"I'm looking at the camera. Why am I doing this anyway?"

"For John and his friends," came the reply from the camera man.

"All his friends hate him."

John smiled at Sherlock's comment.

"Right, ok. John I'm not really good at this sort of thing, but I will certainly try... Right. John having you in my life has been, well an adventure, and I wouldn't trade that for anything. Not even a twelve."

"Is there something else I can do?" Sherlock asked the camera man.

"I'll tell you what you can do, stop being dead," John replied.

"Ok!" Sherlock said out of the blue.

John lifted up in his chair for a few moments, from the surprise.

Sherlock's tone of voice grew warmer. "John, if I'm not with you at the moment, it's because I'm very busy. But I will be with you again, very soon."

John shrugged, and paused the video, and looked at the clock. Four-thirty. He promised that he would visit Mrs. Hudson. John got his coat, and caught a cab to 221.B, and rang the doorbell.

* * *

"Sherlock you need to stay still. You don't want any more cuts than you already have," Mycroft said sarcastically. Sherlock rolled his eyes, while his overgrown hair and beard were shaved off.

"You know, you might want to show a little more respect to the brother who got you out of a Serbian outpost."

"Oh yes, how was it fighting into the ranks of the Serbian army, while I was chained between to pieces of wood, and beaten to a pulp? Why didn't you stop them?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft just stared at Sherlock.

"Of course, you were enjoying it, definitely enjoying it. It's surprising that you even got into their ranks, what with that untrained Serbian accent of yours," Sherlock mocked.

"Well, the language has many Turkish roots. It merely took me a couple of hours," Mycroft replied.

"Ah, your slipping," Sherlock replied sarcastically.

"I got you out," Mycroft replied.

"No, I got me out!" Sherlock blurted.

"Oh, you mean your mind Palace?" Mycroft caught Sherlock's gaze.

"Yes, don't think you can elude me dear brother, I knew exactly what you were doing. The closed eyes, the slow shallow breaths. How do think I survived going to public school?"

"All the kids thought you were sleeping," Sherlock stated.

"Yes, well, they weren't exactly the smartest bulbs in Buckingham," Mycroft replied.

Sherlock got up from the barbers chair. "Anthea where is it?" Sherlock questioned. Anthea walked out, but soon returned with Sherlock's detective coat. She smiled warmly while helping him put it on. The rough material of the coat, caused the detective to suddenly hiss in pain.

"Sherlock, I'd recommend stitches on that back of yours," Mycroft said.

"Yes, i'll stop by Bart's on my way," Sherlock replied. "How's John been?"

"He's been better. We go out every friday for fish and chips," Mycroft answered.

"The mustache will have to go. I can't be seen wondering around with an old man," Sherlock stated.

"Where exactly are you going?" Mycroft asked.

"It's been two years since I've been in London. I want to breath in it's aroma of mystery, feel every quiver of it's beating heart."

Sherlock pulled his coat collar up, and walked out.

**Hey guys, I know I said I would do Sherolly this chapter, but there's good news. I'm almost done with chapter 5, and will be uploading it next week. Now I can devote almost the entire chapter 5, to just Sherolly. I pinky promise Sherolly:)If you like this chapter, feel free to review.**


	5. Chapter 5: I Always Have

**Hello, I pinky promised you guys Sherolly. Thank you to everyone, for making this story Count, (pun intended) Enjoy!**

Molly was gathering her things in her locker, getting ready to go home to her flat. When she saw Sherlock's reflection, shining off the metal.

"Oh Sherlock!" Molly squealed in excitement, wrapping her arms around her detective.

"Molly!" Sherlock yelped in pain, from his back being squeezed.

She stared into his bloodshot eyes, at his pained expression. "Sherlock what happened to you?" Molly asked in an alarming tone. "Why can't I touch you?"

"Molly, I can't lie to you anymore. When I was destroying Moriartys network, I was captured by Serbian soldiers. They wanted information from me."

She looked at Sherlock, with a fearful expression on her face. "You mean they..."

Sherlock looked into her sad eyes, his voice grew softer... "I'm afraid they did. I didn't want to tell you, because I didn't want you to worry about me."

Molly's eyes brimmed with tears. "Well, all that matters now is that your safe."

"No, Molly Hooper. All that matters now, is that I'm with you," Sherlock replied in a deep tone, causing her to blush. How she missed his deep, warm voice.

Sherlock leaned closer to Molly, and softly planted a kiss on her lips.

"Sherlock, I need to look at your back," Molly said in a serious tone. The detective shook his head, yes.

Molly looked around the morgue.

"Why don't we go to my place? You won't exactly be very comfortable, sitting on a steel table."

...

Molly and Sherlock walked out of the morgue, and took a cab to her flat. Sherlock made sure, not to hit his back on the seat as they were driving.

When they arrived, the two of them got out of the cab, and walked into the flat.

Toby rubbed up against Sherlock's leg, purring, as they made there way to the sitting room. The detective sat down carefully on the sofa, with Toby jumping into his lap.

"Sherlock, I need you to turn your body a little," Molly said, in a polite, yet strong tone. Sherlock did as he was told.

Molly moved her hand up Sherlock's chest, and slowly removed his coat, and tuxedo. Trying to be as gentle as possible, so she didn't hurt him. She carefully removed the last article of clothing, leaving the upper half of him exposed, and braced herself.

She works in a morgue, and dissects cadavers everyday. But it never seemed to faze her until now. But that was because Sherlock was alive, not dead. She felt for him, she could feel his pain. Molly looked at Sherlock's scarred back, all the bruises and cuts made her want to cry. But she held it in. She didn't want Sherlock to see her cry. Molly needed to be strong, more than ever now.

"You're going to need stitches on those cuts," Molly said, turning away from him, to dry her eyes on her sleeve. Her Sherlock had been horribly hurt. When she saw all the deep gashes in his back, it made her stomach churn. It was heart wrenching to see him like this.

Molly got a syringe out of her medicine cabinet, and filled it with anesthetic that she brought from the morgue, and walked over to Sherlock, with the syringe in her finger tips.

Sherlock stared at her strangely, as she walked into the sitting room. It wasn't Molly that he was seeing, but a shadowy figure walking towards him. "Don't tell them anything. Resist the drug, do it for John, do it for Molly, do it for Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock mumbled. The detective squeezed his eyes shut, as if waiting for something to happen.

Molly's heart skipped a beat, as she realized that Sherlock was reliving the trauma that happened to him in Serbia. She lifted her hand onto the detectives forehead, to check if he had a fever. "Sherlock, you're safe now," Molly said softly, while holding his slender, warm hand.

A few moments later, the detective slowly opened his eyes, and squeezed her hand back. "I love you Molly Hooper," the detective said, in a deep strong voice. "It's taken me two years to finally realize, I always have. You know me, I'm not really good with sentiment."

Molly never thought Sherlock would utter those words. She stared deeply into his sleep deprived eyes. "I love you too Sherlock," Molly replied.

The detective leaned in slowly, and planted a kiss on her lips.

"Sherlock, I need to stitch you up before those cuts get infected," Molly said, knitting her brow in concern.

"As you wish Molly," Sherlock said, with a faint smile on his lips. He knew that Molly would never hurt him intentionally, and that she would be as gentle as she could.

Molly started the first of a series of injections, on the edge of one his wounds. "Sherlock I need you to relax your body, don't tense up ok?" Sherlock nodded, and focused on reliving all the tension from his body that he could.

The detective winced, as Molly carefully inserted the needle, causing him to flinch slightly, as his muscles tightened in protest. Molly pressed the plunger releasing the anesthetic into his system, and withdrew the needle, lining up for the second injection. "Thank you Molly," Sherlock said softly.

"It's no trouble," Molly replied.

Sherlock turned around to face her. "No, I'm mean, thank you for not giving up on me. I know I haven't been the easiest person to be with."

Molly nodded. The two years he was away, helped her gain more perspective. She new Sherlock was different, and treated people differently, because he didn't understand them.

"It's fine," Molly replied. "I have one more injection to do."

After Molly finished the last injection, and stitched him up, she carefully put his shirt back on, and walked over to the medicine cabinet to put away the supplies.

Sherlock could only think about one thing now, Molly. His brain was on overdrive, and nothing could satisfy it, but...

The detective walked in a strange pattern over to Molly, with a certain look in his eye. "Something I can help you with?" Molly asked. Before she could say another word, he rapped his arms around her back, and pulled her closer to him. Molly was caught off guard, but gladly complied.

The detective moved his hands up to Molly's neck, cupping her face, as they melted against each other in passionate kisses. Sherlock could feel her hands slide up his back, caressing his neck, as she raked her fingers through his dark curls.

Feeling the heat of the moment, Molly jumped into his arms, and wrapped her legs around him, as he kissed up and down her neck, drawing soft sighs from her. As they pulled each other closer... their lips clashed together once more, in a furry of heated passion, that none of them could stop...

...

Taking a moment to breath, both their eyes caught sight of the bedroom. Sherlock smirked mischievously, and carried Molly into the bedroom, and kicked the door shut behind them.

**C****hapter 6, will be out, maybe next week. If you like this chapter, feel free to review.**


	6. Chapter 6: Face Of An Old Friend

The morning sun, was peering through a window, waking a certain detective, as it shined in his eyes. Sherlock groaned slightly, from the rude awakening, and rolled over on the bed, to hid his face from the sun. The detective caught sight of Molly, sleeping next to him, with a blissful expression on her face. Sherlock smiled, as he watched Molly's chest, rising and falling with each breath.

"Sherlock," Molly was mumbling in her sleep. The detective gave a look of concern, as her hands began to tremble, causing her body to twitch slightly.

...

_Molly the prosthetics are on, LAZARUS is go, Mycroft stated._ Molly knew there was just one thing left, one final piece of the puzzle, that needed to be put into place. She stared at Sherlock's lifeless duplicate, trying to memorize it's features, so she wouldn't forget what the detective looked like. When everything was ready, Molly closed her eyes, and pushed the corpse out the window.

...

Feeling the need to wake her up, the detective tenderly leaned into Molly, and softly planted a kiss on her lips... Molly soon opened her eyes, to see a dark haired detective, leaning over her limp body, staring at her with his calculating, bluish-green eyes, and protruding cheekbones. "You were mumbling in your sleep again, is everything alright?" Sherlock asked.

"It's fine, just a nightmare," Molly replied.

"what was it about?" Sherlock asked, his brow knitted.

"It was just something silly, hardly worth thinking about." Molly felt to embarrassed, to tell Sherlock the truth. She sat up in bed for a moment, and looked around the room, when her stomach began to rumble. Molly grabbed her shorts, from the side of the bed, and got dressed. "I'm going to make some breakfast," Molly said. Standing upright, only to inevitably fall on the bed again, from the dizziness.

"Why don't I make the breakfast, you've had a long night?" Sherlock replied. Causing the corners of their mouths, to curve upward into a smile.

"You know how to cook?" Molly asked, trying not to sound too surprised. She knew that Sherlock had many talents, but she never thought cooking was one of them.

"If you mean the process of heating the molecular structure of an item, so that it is edible for human consumption, then yes," Sherlock replied.

Molly smiled. Sherlock saw the world through his own unique perspective. She had met a lot of guys, who wanted to rule the world through cloning, and genetic engineering, but none were interested in unraveling it's mysteries. Who else would explain cooking, in such a scientific manner. She was a scientist, she needed to be with someone intelligent. Who knows when his next client, will whisk him away again, it was time to act. "What are you going to make?" Molly asked cheerfully.

Sherlock's eyes glimmered. "It's a surprise!" The detective put on his grey flannel t-shirt, and pajama bottoms, and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Fifteen minutes had passed, and Molly couldn't stand the suspense anymore. She walked into the kitchen, when a familiar smell welcomed her.

"Oh good, you're here. I've made our favorite." Molly sat down and looked at the plate in front of her. Crisply cooked bacon, scrambled eggs, toast with butter, and sausages.

"How did you know, this is my favorite?" Molly asked.

Sherlock pulled out a cook book from the cupboard, and pointed to a random page, that she had bookmarked. "This is your cookbook yes?"

Molly nodded.

Sherlock continued. "There are many recipes in this book, but only one folded over, meaning you wanted to remember that particular page, and due to its various tears, and creases near the spine, you either take terrible care of it, which going by your newly dusted bookshelf, and your ironed work attire, you're not that type of person. Conclusion, this book has been in your possession, a considerable amount of time. But there are far fewer creases near the middle, and end of the book. Mostly because all cookbooks print the breakfast items first, then lunch and dinner. So this is your favorite breakfast recipe in this book.

Sherlock sat down in his chair, smirking a little at Molly's reaction. It was always fun, to see peoples confused looks, when he said something clever. _Oh, John, I should probably tell him I'm alive. Maybe I'll jump out of a cake?_ _Sherlock contemplated to himself._

After they finished eating, the detective got a more suitable attire on, and started to head out. "Molly I have to run some errands."

"When will you be back," Molly questioned.

"Tonight." Before Molly could say another word, Sherlock gave her a kiss goodbye, and walked out the door, shutting it with a loud click.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was washing dishes, and listening to the radio, when she heard a noise in the other room. She slowly walked into the hall. When she saw a ghostly figure behind the door, she held up her frying pan in defence. The dark figure slowly walked in, causing the landlady to scream in fright. Mrs. Hudson couldn't believe her eyes, Sherlock was standing right in front of her, back from the dead.

The landlady began to feel faint. Just before she hit the ground, a pair of strong arms, reached out, and caught her. "Sherlock is that really you?" Mrs. Hudson asked, slurring her words a little.

"Yes," Sherlock replied.

"But your dead, John and I went to your memorial service. How are you still alive?" Mrs. Hudson asked, bewildered.

Sherlock gestured for Mrs. Hudson, to sit down at the kitchen table. "That doesn't matter now, have you seen John?"

"He has dinner reservations at the Marylebone Road, tonight with his girlfriend," Mrs. Hudson replied.

Sherlock took a seat across from Mrs. Hudson, and steepled his hands. "Interesting."

"I know, I thought for sure you two would hit it off." Mrs. Hudson playfully smiled at Sherlock.

"No, not about that, I was contemplating a plan to surprise John." Sherlock giggled. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

"Sherlock, are you sure you should surprise him like that? You might give the man a heart attack. Did you know he visits your grave every day, and still morns for you, after all these years? It hurts me to see him like this."

"I know." Sherlock looked up at Mrs. Hudson's sad face, and steepled his hands under his chin. "I needed to keep you safe, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock's voice grew warmer. "I've grown quite fond of you and John over the years, I couldn't risk you getting hurt. So, I exiled myself."

Mrs. Hudson smiled, at what Sherlock was saying. The clock on her wall, suddenly chimed, causing the landlady to look over. "Oh, look at the time. You better be on your way dear, or you'll be late."

Sherlock made his way out of the kitchen, and was about to open door- "It's good to see you again Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said. "Just promise me, that you'll be gentle with John, he's very fragile right now."

"I promise." Sherlock hugged the landlady goodbye, and left her flat.

...

Mrs hudson was right. As soon as the detective told John and Mary, about faking his death, two things happened: All the fear, and hurt, came rushing back in a tidal wave of emotion, tackling Sherlock to the ground. And the impact to the floor, opened up his newly stitched back.

After John cooled off a bit, Sherlock sat himself down in one of the free chairs at the table. He calmly steepled his hands, in a praying position in front of his chin, and explained what happened.

"I calculated 13 possibilities once I invited Moriarty onto the roof. I wanted to avoid dying, if at all possible. The first scenario involved turning myself into a parked hospital van, filled with washing bags. Impossible, the angle was too steep. Secondly a system of Japanese wrestling-"

John cut him off. "You know for a genius, you can be remarkably thick," John blurted, turning his head away from the detective. "I don't care how you faked it, I want to know why?"

"Why? because Moriarty had to be stopped. John, nothing I did seemed to have an effect. I tried brute force, by grabbing him by the shoulders, threatening to throw him of the building. I tried to trick him into revealing information. He just stared at me, with those dark, empty eyes. Moriarty wasn't only intent on destroying my reputation, he wanted to solve the final problem, as he put it. Which of course, yielded only one solution, my death. John, this was the only way to stop Moriarty, once and for all."

Watson stared at Sherlock, with his, '_you're not getting my point face.'_

"Oh, why as in- why. That's a little more difficult to explain," Sherlock said.

"I've got all night," John replied, staring him down, with his arms crossed.

"Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft's idea."

"So this was your brothers plan?" John asked, furrowing his brow.

"He would've needed a confidant. Sorry," Marry said, crossing her arms, and turning away from them.

"But he was the only one, the only one who knew?" John asked.

"A couple of others, it was a very elaborate plan, it had to be."

Sherlock continued... "The next of the 13 possibilities was-"

"Who else?" John whispered. "_WHO_!"

"Molly," Sherlock replied.

As soon as Sherlock told John about Molly, and the 25 people of his homeless network, the detective was yet again, tackled by John in the restaurant.

The whole night continued going downhill. Mary said she would talk to John, since the detective couldn't go near him without being punched again. So he left, and took a cab to the police station. Surely, Lestrade would give him a warmer welcome.

...

"For the last time, I don't think it's possible for the pool boy to have poisoned the drink of Elizabeth Dyer. He didn't have a motive, and witnesses that say he was out of town, visiting his aunt in Brighton."

"Detective Reilly, is one of the top detectives in England," Dimmock defended.

"Reilly, is a bloody idiot!" Lestrade shouted. Causing everyone in the station, to stare at him, with puzzled looks.

"It's been two years, how long, are you going to keep punishing yourself, for what happend? Sherlock is gone, we need a new detective," Dimmock stated.

"I need some air." Lestrade shrugged, and left the station. The DI looked at his watch, eight-thirty. He decided to catch a cab, back to his flat.

_He planted that doubt in their heads, that little nagging sensation you have to be strong to avoid. You can't kill an idea can you, not once it's made a home, there. He wants to destroy me, inch, by inch. It is a game Lestrade, and not one i'm willing to play._

"Why didn't I believe you Sherlock?" Lestrade asked, massaging the back of his neck. Tormented by Sherlocks last words, playing like a movie projector in his mind, he walked into his flat.

...

Meanwhile, Sherlock positions himself outside Lestrad's flat. Soon, he tuned into the sound of a pizza car, parking by the curb. The detective had an idea.

"Hello, are you a DI Lestrade?" the pizza guy asked, Sherlock.

"No, but I'm his friend. I can go ahead and take that for you... By any chance can I borrow your uniform? it's for a... practical joke." Sherlock quickly remembered the conversation he had with John, on April Fools Day.

"Sure dude, I have a spare one in my car."

After he handed the detective his uniform, the pizza guy left. Sherlock quickly put on the uniform, and opened up the pizza box. The detective laid out the anchovies to form a message, and rang the door bell.

"It's about time," Lestrade muttered to himself. The DI would have never guessed, what would happen next.

**Interesting twist, right? This chapter is more of a back-story. There's a chapter 7 coming, and more Sherolly, next week. If you have any comments, on what you would like to see next chapter, feel free to PM me. If you like this chapter, feel free to review.**


	7. Chapter 7: A Companion Among The Flames

**Alright everybody this is the final chapter. "If you think you have fun reading them, that's how much fun I have writing them." (thank you Benedict for that quote) Anyway thanks to everyone who made this story Count(again sorry about the pun) Enjoy!**

Lestrad walks over to the door, and opens it up. "Here is your pizza sir." The pizza guy hands Lestrade the box. His eyes are filled with sadness, as he examines it's contents, catching sight of two familiar letters SH.

What kind of a sick joke is this? Lestrade shouts. Sherlock smirks playfully, and takes off the uniform. "Oi, you bastard! Lestrade exclaimed."

The Di marches over to Sherlock, and gives him a big friendly hug.

* * *

Molly was in her pajamas, waiting for her boyfriend to come home. _Perhaps one day, she would go with him, __on cases__. Molly continued to think quietly to herself, about their future... _She didn't want to admit it, but she felt scared for him. Even though he had been gone, only for a few hour's. She was beginning to feel insecure, sitting all alone in her flat, wondering if he was going to leave her again. Molly new it was late, so it was no surprise when she glanced at the clock.

A jolt of electricity, coursed through her body, as the doorknob slowly turned. Soon revealing a battered detective, standing in the doorway. "Sherlock what happened to you?" Molly exclaimed.

"Well my back is stinging, and my lip feels numb," The detective says, matter-of-factly.

"Sherlock your stitches!" Molly couldn't believe she forgot to check his stitches before he left. She quickly walks over to Sherlock, and takes off his coat and shirt. Molly's fears are confirmed, as she lays eyes on his torn, and mangled stitches.

"Sherlock how did this happen?" Molly could see the answer, written in his hurt filled eyes, and gently slides her arms up his shoulders. "John did this didn't he?"

Sherlock nodded his head.

Molly takes out a few tools from her medicine cabinet, and gently fixes the torn stitches, and split lip. "Did you eat anything while you were out?" Molly asks, dressing his back in fresh gauze.

"I ate at Lestrad's," Sherlock replied, putting his shirt back on. The detective let out a big yawn. I'm going to take a bath Molly.

"All right, just be careful not to get your back wet," Molly warned, putting away the supplies.

The warm water, felt so good on his skin. He hadn't taken a bath since before he was captured. Sherlock wished he could lie down, but he remembered Molly's warning, not to get his back wet.

After Sherlock washed up, he dried off, brushed his teeth, and slipped into his pajamas. The hallway was dark, so He walked carefully, so he didn't trip on anything that might be lurking in the shadows.

When he made it to Mollys room, the detective was surprised, to find her sprawled out on the bed. Ever since he's been back, Molly's acted differently towards him. What happened to the shy, insecure pathologist he once knew?

Sherlock ignored the uncomfortable feeling beginning to set in. "I thought you were asleep?" the detective asked, hoping to find some answers.

"I couldn't sleep, so I decided to wait for you," Molly replied, gently tapping the empty space next to her.

The two of them pulled back the covers, and climbed into bed...

Molly felt his warm body, resting against hers, as she nestled deeper into his arms. Sherlock smiled, and tenderly stroked Molly's hair, closing his eyes, as he slowly drifted off, lulled by the sound of her breathing. The uncomfortable feeling was gone.

Later the next morning...

"Molly, would you like to?..."

"Have dinner?" Molly replied, anxiously.

"Solve crimes?..." Sherlock answered, with a confused look.

For the rest of the day, Molly took the place of John. Taking notes, examining bodies etc.

Towards the end of the day, after they finished work, Sherlock leans in and gently plants a kiss on her lips. "Thank you Molly Hooper. The detectives looks her in the eye, and smiles. "Will you meet me at my flat, around let's say 8:00?"

"All right," Molly says, trying not to let the excitement show. The detective pulls his coat collar up, and disappears down the streets of London.

...

_How dare he not tell me he was alive! How could he let me grieve over him? _

The army doctors thoughts were interuped, by a sudden sharp sting in his neck, causing his vision to blure, as he was lowered onto the pavement.

* * *

John is awoken by the rustic smell of brandy, permeating through the darkness. He tries to wriggle free, but the ropes tied to his hands and feet, burn his flesh the more he moves. He was a soldier, he had been captured by enemies before. John pushed away the overpowering feeling of pain and fear, and clenched his fists, readying himself for a battle.

"Hello doctor Watson, I hope you haven't been too uncomfortable." The lights turn on, as a strange figure, descends down a mother of pearl spiral staircase.

John squints from the sudden brightness, and leans his head back, wincing from his sore neck.

"Sorry about that, my men tend to be a little rough when following orders." John could see the man had a short beard, blond hair, porcelain white skin, and dead eyes, that stared at him through the specticles resting on his sparrow-like nose.

"What do you want with me?" John yelled.

The figure calmly walked over to the desk in the corner, and sat down. "I need you to answer some questions... Don't worry, no harm will come to you, I'm not a villain, just a business man."

"Does Sherlock care about you?"

"Do you mean as a friend, or what?" John growled, tired of being a prisoner.

"As a friend," the slender man replied. "What are some things, Sherlock cares about the most?"

John exhales dramatically.

The slender man, looked closely at the doctors body language, as John told him, only the bare minimum of his knowledge. "Thank you doctor Watson for your time. Cesaris, we need to try something different." The slender man gives a quick hand gesture, to one of his henchmen, and then leaves through a marble tiled elevator.

A sudden spray of mist, renderes John partly unconscious. Hearing the cold sound of his kidnappers feet hitting the floor, and feeling his body being transported to another location, was the last thing he sensed, before completely blacking out.

* * *

"John... John, wake up."

The doctors eyes slowly opened, and soon caught sight of the cramped space he occupied. The smell of rotting wood, and garbage, only enhanced the feeling of claustrophobia that began to set in.

"I need to get out of here," John mumbled to himself, rubbing his wrists and ankles.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance John?"

Watson turned around in horror, as he laid eyes on a skinny, dark haired detective, beside him. "No, you're not really here, you're just a figment of my imagination," John scoffed.

"That's right John, I'm not really here, I'm just your brains way of coping with the trauma you've endured. Neat right?"

"What trauma?" John asked, his voice sounding flustered.

The figment of Sherlock, pointed to John's nasty head-wound. The doctor moved his hand, up to the spot Sherlock was pointing to, and felt a warm liquid seep in-between his fingers.

"Oh, this is just brilliant! Why of all people did I want you, why not my other friends?" John scoffed.

"O please, your other friends couldn't get you out of a locked car, much less dig you out of this place," Sherlock stated. His voice grew deeper. Now there is a reason i'm here... subconsciously, you know i'm the only one who can get you out."

"Well go on then, get me out of here!" John baited.

Sherlock closed his eyes, and placed his hands under his chin, in a praying position.

"How's your mind palace going to help?" John sputtered.

"I have many blueprints of architectural structures, I've stored over the years. All of them have a weak spot, we just need to find out where."

"No, that wont work, too risky... that beam could squash you." Sherlock talked out-loud to himself for the next few minutes, trying to find a solution.

"John I know what you should do."

The army doctor perked up all of a sudden. "What?"

"Do nothing. This structure is a very unstable, complex framework, of interconnected wood and metal. Any movement to the support beams, could collapse it's entire anatomy, burying you alive. Unless someone takes it down from the outside, it's best to just wait it out."

"Wait it out are you insane?... Well I for one have had enough wait-"

"Shhh.. someone's outside"

"Where are you going? John asked."

"Don't worry i'll be back." Before John could say another word, Sherlock disappeared, into thin air.

* * *

**Save Souls now!**

**John or James Watson?**

**Saint or Sinner?**

**James or John?**

**The more is Less?**

...

"Mary what's wrong?"

"This." Mary walked over to Sherlock and handed him her cellphone. "At first I thought it was just a bible thing, spam, but it's not, it's skip-code."

"First word, then every third, save... John... Watson"

"St. James the Less it's a church. Twenty minutes by car."

Sherlock hurried Mary into the street, and held out his hand, stopping an oncoming motorcycle...

"Hold on John... hold on." Sherlock and Mary raced to the church.

...

"What took you so long?" John yelled. "You've been gone over six minutes."

"I went to take a look outside. John I have some bad news, apparently there's a group of people outside, who are going to have a bonfire party in a few minutes, and you're-"

"I'm the wood," John finished.

"I'm afraid so, but don't worry, I'm coming to rescue you. Well the other me is anyway."

"How do you know?" John asks, furrowing his brow.

"I don't know anything, you do, remember? I'm just a figment of your imagination."

"John you must listen to me, any moment now, their going to light this whole place on fire. There's going to be allot of smoke, and it's going to get unbearably hot, but whatever you do, you must not panic."

"John, promise me that no matter happens, you won't panic."

The army doctor stares Sherlock in the eye. "I promise."

Sherlock's voice grows softer. "I will stay with you, and help you through the ordeal." The detective places his hand on John's shoulder, and smiles reassuringly.

John felt better, having Sherlock near him. The doctor looks him in the eye, and knitts his brow, exhaling in confirmation.

Teenagers shouting-

"Sherlock I can't breath, the flames are getting closer!"

Seeing the terrified look on his friends face, Sherlock slides his hand into the quivering army doctors, and gives it a soft squeeze.

The fear in Johns eyes, tugged at the detectives heart. "Hold on John, hold on!"

...

"John!"

"John!"

Sherlock and Mary make their way through the crowd of people, frantically calling John's name. They dig, and dig, through the scraps of debris, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of the army doctor.

The searing heat, bites at sherlock's skin, with each passing moment. But the detective ignores it, focusing on one thing, rescuing John.

...

A look of relief soon washes over them, as they finally catch a glimpse of the army doctor. The two of them pull him out of the burning ruble, and carry him to safety.

"John can you hear me?... John!" Sherlock moves his hand up to Johns neck, and breathes a sigh of relief, when he feels the weak, but steady pulse, of the army doctors.

John soon openes his eyes, and abruptly sits up, coughing from the residual smoke in his lungs. "Oh, John your alive!" Mary gives John a big hug, and kisses him, letting a few tears flow down her cheeks.

"John who did this to you?" Sherlock asks, his voice shaky.

"I- don't remember anything, other than being transported here," John mumbled.

"Sherlock he's burning up!" Mary said, feeling his forehead.

"Yes I noticed, we should get him checked out a Bart's."

She nods, and helps John to his feet. As they head towards a cab, the army doctor looks back, and sees someone familier, standing near the pile of burning debris. The Sherlock figure waves, and smiles warmly at John, before dissapearing from sight.

John waves back...

"Who are you waving at John?" Mary asks, a little concerned with his mental state.

Just a friend, John says smirking.

Mary walks with John over to a cab, with a confused look on her face. When suddenly, the army doctor faints in her arms.

The detective frantically runs over, and helps Mary, get John into the cab. "To Bart's and step on it!"

_..._

Sherlock texts Molly on the way to Bart's.

Molly somethings happened to John. Meet me at Barts, in room 207, and wear something nice- SH

Molly soon arrives outside room 207. Sherlock's expression is one of wonderment, as he marvels at her emerald-green evening dress, which flawlessly conformed to her figure. Her hair was draped around, the side of her neck, and beautifully hung off of one shoulder, and the subtle shading of her makeup, framed her face perfectly, accentuating her coffee brown eyes, as they glistened in the dim lighting of the hospital room.

Molly soon laid eyes on two food trays, in front of her, with candles beside them. "Sherlock did you do all this?"

Not sure if her expression was one of enjoyment, he motioned for her to sit down beside him. "I know it's not a fancy restaurant, and hospital food leaves much to be desired-"

"I love it!"

"You do?" Sherlock replies, with a puzzled look.

"Are you kidding, a candle light dinner for two, Sherlock it's perfect, thank you." Molly and Sherlock both lean in towards each-other and kiss...

A few moments later...

"So what happened to John?" Molly asked, eyeing the figure, lying on the bed across from them.

"Someone with an ulterior motive against me, or John kidnapped him," Sherlock says dryly.

"Did they tie him up?" Sherlock knitted his brow in concern at her comment, and walked with Molly over to John's bedside, to examine him.

"So he was taken somewhere else?" Sherlock muttered, seeing the chafing around his wrists. "You don't suppose-" Molly and Sherlock both looked at each-other, and slowly pulled back the covers exposing Johns chaffed ankles.

"Both his hand and feet were tied to something, most likely a chair." Molly sensed he wanted to be alone for awhile, so she walks over to one of the chairs, and sits down.

...

The detective places his hand on the army doctors shoulder, "John what did they do to you?... I will find out who did this, I promise." Sherlock stands up, wiping away a few stray tears that managed to escape, and turns towards Molly. "Well, we can't let all this food go to waste can we?" Sherlock says, nervously sitting down next to a worried pathologist.

Without warning, Molly suddenly leans in towards the detective, and kisses him passionately... Sherlock leans in, and deepens the kiss, his hands gently cupping the sides of her face. Molly soon pulls away to speak."We should eat now, you went though allot of trouble, preparing this lovely meal."

"Why eat dinner, when you can have desert?" Sherlock replies, playfully kissing on her neck, causing Molly to giggle.

"Sherlock I'm serious, you can have dessert after you eat dinner." The detective exhales slowly, and nods.

...

After Sherlock and Molly finished eating, the two of them began to feel sleepy, and soon, fall asleep on each others shoulders...

* * *

A small patch of sunlight breaks through a cloud, brightening the hospital room. John opens his eyes from sudden brightness, and sees Sherlock's hands clasped in the usual position, with Molly laying on him. "Good morning sleepyhead, how are you feeling?" Sherlock asks.

"A little smoked," John replies, causing both of them to smirk.

"So you're going out with Molly now?"

"Yes," sherlock replied.

Beeep. The detective reached into his pocket, and took out his phone. "It's a message from Mycroft."

"What does he want?"

"Not here John, hospitals are full of hidden cameras, we need to discuss this somewhere private."

...

Molly wakes up, with her arms rapped around Sherlocks neck...

_"Sorry, did we wake you?"_

"It's fine, I have to go to work anyway." Molly stretches her arms, and walks out the hospital door. "See you later Sherlock."

...

_After john is released from the hospital, they both visit the underground tube system, and examine one of the cars, rumored to hold a bomb. After they discover it, Sherlock plays a joke on John, by pretending he doesn't know how to deactivate the bomb. This causes the army doctor, to reminisce on his old memories of the fall. John is snapped out of it by the sound of Sherlock's loud laughter, and hears police behind him, coming to properly deactivate the bomb._

...

"Why did they try to kill me? If they knew you were on to them, why go after me?.. put me in the bonfire?"

"I don't know. I don't like not knowing. Sherlock ties a scarf around his neck. Unlike the nicely embellished fictions on your blog, real life is rarely so neat." Sherlock stops at the bottom of the stairs to put on his coat.

"Don't pretend you're not enjoying this."

Sherlock hums, with his back turned away from John.

"Being back. Being a hero again. You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it."

Sherlock turns to face him. "Love what?"

"Being Sherlock Holmes, John finished."

"I don't even know what thats supposed to mean." Sherlock turns and walks down the hall, putting on his gloves.

"Sherlock, you are gonna tell me how you did it? How you jumped off that building and survived?"

The detective stops for a moment and then answers."You know my methods John, I'm known to be indestructible."

"No, but seriously. when you were dead, I went to your grave."

"I should hope so."

"I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you."

Sherlock turns to face him. "I know I was there."

"I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead."

"I heard you," Sherlock says softly.

The detective fights back the emotion, and draws in a sharp breath. "Anyway, time to go and be Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock smiles and heads towards the door, hesitating for a moment before reaching over to the coat rack, to grab his deer stalker of a peg. The detective places it onto his head, tugging it into position.

"Are you ready?" John asks, looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock nods his head, and the two of them walk out the door together, to meet the reporters, as they gather around them.

_"Sherlock are you going to continue working with the police, even after the events concerning Richard Brook (aka) Jim Moriarty?"_

"Yes, you'll just have to wait till our next adventure, to find out exactly what that entales."

_Sherlock smirks smugly, and gets into a cab._

_**I hope you enjoyed this Story. If you did feel free to review:)**_


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